As the conversation between Dharma and the Earth unfolded, Dharma spoke with deep reverence, extolling the noble qualities that resided within her: truthfulness, purity, compassion, forgiveness, renunciation, contentment, straightforwardness, tranquility, self-control, austerity, equanimity, forbearance, withdrawal, and learning. He continued, naming knowledge, detachment, lordliness, heroism, brilliance, strength, memory, independence, skill, beauty, courage, and gentleness as her adornments. Further, he praised her boldness, humility, good conduct, endurance, vigor, prosperity, depth, steadiness, faith, fame, honor, and absence of pride. All these virtues—and many more—he declared, ever abided in her, never diminishing, and were sought by those aspiring for greatness. Yet, Dharma’s heart was heavy. He lamented for the world, now bereft of the presence of Śrīnivāsa, the Lord who was the worthy vessel of all virtues, and who had departed, leaving the Earth exposed to the sinful influence of Kali. He grieved not only for himself but also for the Earth, the best of rulers, the gods, the ancestors, the sages, the virtuous, and for all the social orders and stages of life, who now suffered in the Lord’s absence. Dharma recalled how even Brahmā and other exalted beings, yearning for a mere sidelong glance from the Lord, had performed severe austerities in surrender. Yet, the goddess Śrī herself had lovingly worshipped the dust of His feet—feet adorned with auspicious marks—abandoning her own abode in the lotus forest. The Earth remembered with sorrow how she had once been graced by the Lord’s glorious footprints, marked with the lotus, thunderbolt, goad, banner, and other symbols, and how, despite that splendor, she had not found lasting favor with Him. At the end, He had departed, and the worlds, too, had turned away from her. It was He, by His own power, who had relieved her burden by vanquishing the armies of the demonic kings. He had established Dharma in strength, even when Dharma’s position was unstable and diminished, and delighted the Yadu dynasty by bearing their charming forms. The Earth wondered aloud: who could possibly endure separation from that Supreme Person, whose loving glances, radiant smiles, and sweet words could steal away the steadfastness of even the honey-bees, and whose lotus-marked feet brought a thrill to her very being? As Dharma and the Earth thus spoke, King Parīkṣit, the royal sage, arrived at the eastern bank of the Sarasvatī river. There, he offered his salutations to the Supreme Person, the great soul, the abode and source of all beings, the transcendent Self. He bowed to the treasure-house of knowledge and wisdom, the Absolute, of infinite power, beyond qualities, unchanging, and not of this world. He honored Time itself, the source and witness of all divisions of time, the universe, the overseer, creator, and cause of everything. King Parīkṣit offered salutations to the Self of all elements—senses, life-breath, mind, intellect, and inner disposition—who is experienced inwardly but remains concealed by our identification with the three qualities. He bowed to the infinite, the subtle, the immutable, the all-knowing, who accommodates all doctrines and is the power behind both the spoken and unspoken. He revered the root of all valid knowledge, the sage, the source of the scriptures, the path of action and renunciation, the Veda itself. He paid homage to Kṛṣṇa, to Rāma, to the son of Vasudeva, to Pradyumna, to Aniruddha, and to the Lord of the Sātvatas. He saluted the lamp of the qualities, the one who veils Himself with the qualities, is perceived through them, sees them, and is the inner consciousness. He honored Hṛṣīkeśa, who sports in the unmanifest, perfects all that is manifest, and is both the sage and silent ascetic. Parīkṣit bowed to Him who knows the course of the higher and lower, who oversees all, is both the manifest and unmanifest, and sees all and its cause. He acknowledged that, though unattached to the qualities, the Lord presides over the birth, existence, and dissolution of the world, upholding the power of time, awakening the various natures in beings, and, by His unfailing glance, engages in wondrous play. The Lord’s various bodies—some peaceful, some restless, some born of delusion—are all dear to Him, but the peaceful ones are especially beloved. Now, desiring to uphold dharma, the Lord strives to protect and preserve the virtuous. Parīkṣit reflected that a ruler should forgive a single offense committed by a subject, enduring it with a tranquil mind, especially if it was done in ignorance. He prayed for mercy, asking that the serpent, who was dying, be spared, so that the husband—the very life of his wives—might be restored to them, for they were wretched and deserving of compassion. He requested the Lord to command what should be done, for those who carry out His order with faith are freed from all fear. Śuka then narrated how, thus praised by the wives of the serpent, the Lord released the unconscious Kaliya, whose head had been broken under His feet. Regaining his senses and breath, Kaliya looked upon Hari. Weak and distressed, he folded his hands and spoke: “We are wicked by birth, enveloped in darkness and long-standing anger, O Lord. This nature is hard to abandon, for it is the false grasping found among all beings. By You, O Creator, this universe has been fashioned, with the distribution of qualities; all natures, powers, energies, forms, seeds, and inclinations arise from You. Among them, we serpents are born with fierce anger. How can we abandon Your māyā, which is hard to give up, when we ourselves are deluded by it? You are the cause of all, omniscient Lord of the universe. Whether You grant mercy or punishment, do as You deem fit for us.” Hearing these words, the Lord, acting as a human, spoke: “You must not remain here, O serpent. Go to the ocean without delay. Leave this river to be enjoyed by cows, men, and your own kin, children, and wives. Whoever among mortals remembers this instruction and recites it at both twilights shall not suffer fear from you. Whoever bathes here, where I played, and offers water to the gods and others, then fasts and worships Me, remembering Me, will be freed from all sins. Having left the island of Ramanaka and taken refuge in this lake, you were not devoured by Suparna out of fear, for you bear My foot-mark.” Śuka continued: Thus addressed by Krishna, whose deeds are wondrous, Kaliya was joyfully and respectfully worshipped by his wives. They honored Krishna with divine garments, garlands, precious jewels and ornaments, fragrant ointments, and a great garland of lotuses. Having worshipped the Lord of the universe, the Garuda-bannered Krishna, and pleased Him, they circumambulated Him and offered respectful salutations. Then, with all his wives, friends, and sons, Kaliya departed for the island in the ocean. At that moment, by the grace of the Lord who played in human form, the waters of the Yamuna became free of poison.